


the heat of her hands

by reyofdarkness (mitslits)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, basically just smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 21:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/reyofdarkness
Summary: A hint of a smile flickers at the edges of her lips. “Kylo,” she whispers.His thumb stops running along the lines of her palm. “Why do you call me that?” His voice is low and rough from disuse. They haven’t spoken all evening.Rey’s fingers curl in slightly, brushing over his thumb. “To remind you that I’ll always love the parts of you no one else will.”





	the heat of her hands

**Author's Note:**

> written for the reylo charity anthology! 
> 
> many thanks to Sage McMae for beta'ing; she was a lovely beta

Heat of the fire, not of her skin. It had been a disappointment to discover. What he’d thought had been the heat of her body in that cave so long ago was only the flames burning beneath them. Touching her through the Force bond was like skimming his hands over an outline; he could feel the shape of her, but nothing more. It had seemed like enough, then. 

Now, here, she exists in living, breathing color. 

The scene: Rey, lounging on a couch with half-lidded eyes, her first real opportunity to relax since the end of the First Order. Ben, on the floor, his back against the cushions, his head pillowed on the lean stretch of her torso. 

They are alone. It is not the first time, but it has more weight than any of the moments they’d snatched between frantic meetings and missions. Rebuilding the galaxy had been a heavy weight on their shoulders, but now, finally, it’s lifted a fraction. Ben intends to take full advantage. 

Rey’s arm is draped across his chest, her fingers resting on his ribcage. He places his hand over hers and wraps his fingers loosely around her wrist. Curves his hand over the back of hers and holds it up so he can look at it. Living, breathing color. His eyes trace over the thin lines etched into her palms.

Many, many years ago, people used to read those lines, he remembers his mother telling him. They told a person’s life story, or so some believed. 

Ben’s thumb curls around to trace the one bisecting the middle of her palm. He can’t read it. Her body is a foreign language to him, but he’ll learn; he’s sure of it. His eyes wander lazily along the path her arm creates until they travel over the curve of her jaw, her cheek, and he finds her staring back at him. 

A hint of a smile flickers at the edges of her lips. “Kylo,” she whispers. 

His thumb stops running along the lines of her palm. “Why do you call me that?” His voice is low and rough from disuse. They haven’t spoken all evening. 

Rey’s fingers curl in slightly, brushing over his thumb. “To remind you that I’ll always love the parts of you no one else will.” 

She’d called him Ben when he was a monster, a twisted thing. When all anyone believed in was Kylo. That twisted thing is still inside him; and she calls him by it. A shudder ripples down his spine. 

He’s never loved all of anyone before, nor has anyone loved all of him. 

His father, the connection to the Force he had never understood. 

His uncle, the fear of the person he might become. 

His mother, the time he demanded that she simply couldn’t accommodate.

Then, Rey. Who calls him Kylo. Who names him a reminder of what he never should have been. Who says she loves him.

He has never loved all of anyone but her. 

“Kylo, what are you doing?” She taps one finger against his thumb. “With my hand.” 

Her voice pulls him back to the present. “Sometimes,” he says, his thumb resuming its languorous exploration, “it’s hard to believe you’re really here. I’m just reassuring myself.” So saying, he draws her hand to his mouth and presses his lips to the center of her palm. His hand covers all of hers, keeping her from pulling it away. 

The heat of her is real. She burns against his skin like a brand; he’s happy to bear her mark. His eyes slide closed, but he can still feel hers upon him, just as he feels the fingers of her free hand tangling into his hair. The scrape of nails against his scalp, intoxicating. His breath dissipates against her skin, turns it slick. Lazy, his tongue slips from between his lips and belatedly follows the wake of his thumb. 

Salt sweat has collected in the ridges, and he savors the taste. Rey shifts beneath him, the muscles in her abdomen flexing beneath his head. “What are you doing?” she asks again. 

He could try to answer, but it would come out muffled, and he doesn’t bother. _Exploring_ _,_ he wants to say. _Learning._ He’s always been a scholar. 

She smells like sun and sand, as if Jakku had embedded itself in her skin, had sown itself into the seams of her until it and she were indistinguishable. 

He wonders what has found its way into him. His hands: the scent of rust-red blood and bitter-black leather. His hand tightens over hers as he moves them, drags her fingers over his lips so he can feel every inch of them. He closes his mouth around the tip of her pointer finger. Under him, she shivers. The rest of her fingertips rest on the curve of his jaw, the corners of his mouth. 

It feels wrong to release her, so he lets her fingers fall from his mouth and keeps a hold on her hand. He turns it over, baring her wrist. Tan skin stretches over a roadmap of veins; blue like her lightsaber beneath the surface. Her flesh and her blood, and he can feel it. He holds it, like he never thought he would. Bending forward, he presses his lips against her pulse point, and, oh, he can feel that too, the beat of her heart against his mouth. He imagines he could swallow it. Keep it in his own chest. Give her his so she would always know he belongs to her. 

“Kylo,” she whispers again. 

“Rey,” he whispers back. 

They stay like that for a while, her heart on his lips, her fingers in his hair. He thinks he could stay this way forever and be content. But there is more to her, miles and miles of skin he hasn’t seen yet. He wants to see it all. 

He doesn’t lift his head; instead, he runs his lips along that map of veins until he reaches the crook of her arm. He stops there to press a brief kiss to thin skin before moving up over the corded muscle of her bicep. 

She’s strong; he admires her for that even if he resents the circumstances which made her that way. Living on her own for so long… she would have had to be able to take care of herself.  _ You don’t have to be so strong anymore _ _ ,  _ he promises, though he’d never say that out loud. She’s stubborn enough to accept his help only if he doesn’t offer it. 

The contradiction suddenly strikes him as amusing, and his low laugh breaks over her in a wave. 

“What?” Rey asks, her eyes alight. “What’s so funny?” 

“You,” he says. 

Her eyes narrow. “I feel like I should be offended.”

She isn’t, though; he can tell by the way she continues to run her fingers through his hair. “Don’t be,” he says anyway. He leans forward and buries his face in her neck—loses himself in the smell of her skin and the chocolate brown of her hair. “I don’t know you,” he breathes.  

Rey’s hand smooths down the back of his neck and trails down his spine. “Yes, you do,” she says. “Better than anyone else. You’ve been inside my head.”  

“I know that part of you,” he concedes, “but I want the rest, too. If you’ll let me.” 

Brow furrowed, Rey tugs at his hair until he lifts his head and looks down at her. “What else is there?” she asks. 

In answer, he moves to his knees so he’s facing the couch rather than leaning against it. He brackets her with one arm, holding himself over her. His other hand travels down her body. It follows her curves until it reaches her hip where it comes to rest. He skims his lips along her jaw, the barest graze of teeth. “There’s this.” He presses the words into the skin right below her ear. 

With a shuddering breath, Rey tilts her head to the side. She twines her arms around his neck and lifts her eyes to his, and he swears his heart stops. There’s everything in her gaze: the permission he sought, the love he’s been so long denied.

He brushes his lips over hers and ends up lingering. He intends to take his time with her; he can afford to spend a little longer here. 

Rey’s lips part beneath him, inviting him in, closer. Her hands cup the sides of his face, fingers splayed over his cheeks, and she makes a small noise in the back of her throat, as if this is all she’s been waiting for. 

It sparks something in his chest, knowing he’s wanted. Warmth diffuses through him, hers and his own. He slips his tongue into her mouth, scrapes past her teeth to sample her. She tastes like her skin: sand and sun and open skies. She tastes alive.

One of her hands glides around to the back of his neck, her grip tightening as she arches up into him. Another sound, louder this time, more appreciative. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away, catching her bottom lip in his teeth and adding the barest hint of pressure. It astounds him, the way he affects her. He leaves her lips red and kiss-swollen, leaves indentations in her skin where his nails have dug in. Painting her with new colors. He kisses the corners of her mouth before moving down to her neck. He trails his nose down the smooth curve of it until he reaches the junction of her shoulder.

Her heart is under his mouth again, and he captures it gently between his teeth. This more than anything else convinces him of her presence. He would never be able to feel the thready beat through something as unsteady as the bond.

Rey inhales sharply at the bite, her fingers digging into his tunic. “Yes,” she exhales, and then looks embarrassed to have said it. 

He pulls back in enough time to see her blush and brushes the backs of his fingers over her cheeks. “Red suits you.” His tone is light, teasing, and she darkens further. 

“Shut up,” she huffs. “Weren’t you busy?” 

One corner of his mouth curls up in a smirk. He was. Eager to get back to it, he runs his fingers along the fraying collar of her rough-spun shirt. “This is in my way.” 

Without ceremony, Rey pushes him back so she can strip. Balancing on her knees, she discards the shirt on the floor, and her breast band follows soon after.  

Eager as he is to get his hands and mouth back on her, for a moment, all he can do is stare. Her skin is paler where it hasn’t seen the sun, the small mounds of her breasts almost as pale as him. Dusky nipples stand pebbled in the sudden chill. He wants her. Only her. The freckles sprinkled on her shoulders, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the smooth line of her hips—they’re Rey, and he never needs to look at anyone else.

He only realizes he hasn’t moved when Rey squirms and crosses her arms over her chest. “Feeling a little self-conscious here,” she says. 

“Don’t,” he says immediately. He levers himself onto the couch with her and gently tugs at her arms until she uncrosses them, lets them fall to her side. His hands settle on her ribcage, his thumbs resting underneath her breasts. “You are...” he takes a breath, struggling to find something adequate, “beyond words.” 

Rey bites her lip to hide a pleased smile as he wraps his arm around her waist and draws her in. 

To have loved her without being able to hold her has left him starving for it. Rey, in his arms, her chest pressed to his, sharing the air they breathe—it doesn’t seem possible after spending so long craving it. He bends his head to swipe his tongue over the hollow of her throat. This close, he can feel her breath hitch. He moves to her collarbone next, dragging his tongue over it and his teeth after, merely because he can, because he never knew he’d be able to.

She cradles his head in her arms and arches her back, pushing her chest closer. She  _ needs _ like he does; he thinks he would be able to feel it even without this bond between them. “I missed you sometimes,” she says quietly, her mouth close to his ear. “Before. How could I miss you when you were always there?”  

He knows what she means. There were times when he had felt like she wasn’t there, wouldn’t ever be again when they were separated. Those times had been claustrophobic; like there wasn’t enough space in his own head for him to exist. It didn’t make sense, how he had felt less trapped when she was there. Nothing about them made sense, and he didn’t care. “Do you miss me now?” His lips are pressed to her shoulder, moving against her skin. 

“No,” Rey says. Her fingers thread into his hair. “I’m not going to miss you ever again.”

Maker, he hopes not. Now that he has Rey, he doesn’t intend to let her go. She turns demanding, dragging him back in for another kiss, and he goes willingly. As his tongue finds hers, he guides her down until she’s stretched beneath him on the couch, her arms still wound around his neck. She’s making those sounds again, small and eager, and he wants to see how many others she has hidden in her depths. 

When he pulls back, it’s to look at the way she’s panting, lips glistening, hair splayed in a dark halo around her head. _Debauched,_ he thinks, _but not debauched enough._ He traces along the edges of her blush where it drips down onto her chest and presses his palm flat to feel her breathe. Her heart in his hands now; he swears to be careful with it. He’s wounded it enough already. 

He brushes his lips over the spot before moving lower. The first swipe of his tongue over her nipple earns him a soft gasp. The second has her sinking her teeth into her lip, and he savors the image. His free hand drifts up, climbs the ladder of her ribcage until it closes over her other breast. Rey arches her back to push herself into his hands, his mouth, and he eagerly takes what she gives.

He captures one nipple between his teeth, the other between his thumb and forefinger. He’s gentle, but not overly so, balancing on the knife-edge between pain and pleasure. His reward is a sharp intake of breath hissing through Rey’s teeth. Blunt fingernails scrape his shoulders, and he hadn’t even realized her hands were there until then. The warmth of her seeps into his skin, and a shudder rolls down his spine. This, this is what he’s longed for. To touch her and be touched, to feel the way she moves, breathes, lives underneath him. 

He pulls away to catch his breath and rests his head in the valley between her breasts. He isn’t anything close to deserving, he knows that. Rey could push him away at any moment, and he couldn’t blame her for doing so. The things he’d done… the things he’d said… She doesn’t make him forget them, but she makes him think he might be worthy of forgiveness. Redemption. For the first time in a long time, he craves it. He wants to be worthy of her. Wants to be someone she can love. 

“Can you love me, Rey?” he exhales. 

“I already do.” 

Her answer settles somewhere deep inside his chest, makes it hard to breathe. He doesn’t try. Forehead still resting between her breasts, he rolls his head down until he can get his mouth on her. He follows her sternum down, kissing a line between her ribs. They’re small and open-mouthed, not meant to excite. She would feel delicate if he couldn’t trace the lines of muscles in her abdomen with his tongue. Despite that, there’s something soft about the way her body seems to meld to the curve of his lips. Peach-fuzz hair tickles his chin, and he smirks into the hollow of her bellybutton. Beautiful, every inch.  

The waistline of her pants stops him after that, and he makes no attempt at removing them. Time enough for that later. Instead, he slinks back up the length of her until he can press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. She tilts her head back to make room for him in the curve of her neck. 

He wonders what it would be like to mark it. He won’t, not this time. This time, he just wants to know what she already is. But would she accept it? Like it? Or hide it behind her hair and pretend it wasn’t there? 

Promising himself he’ll find out, he busies himself with what he can do in this moment. His hand returns to her breast, thumb brushing over the hard pebble of her nipple. His lips move from her jaw to her ear; he traces the curve of it with his mouth and tugs at the lobe with his teeth. Her hair tickles across his nose, and he buries a laugh in it. 

“I’m glad one of us is laughing,” Rey breathes, and there’s a groan edging her voice. Insistence. Anticipation. 

He can taste it as he kisses her. Mouth still covering hers, he pinches her nipple, swallows down the small sound of surprise. “Not having fun?” he teases, rolling it luxuriously between his fingers. 

Rey’s breath comes in stuttered gasps as she curls her hand around his. She guides it down, down, over the smooth skin of her stomach and past his earlier exploration, past the waistband of her pants. 

“Please.” 

The word is barely a whisper, but he hears it, close as he is. 

“Kylo, please.” 

_Warm._ Her heat envelopes him as she presses him against her core. How easy it would be, to give in to what they both want. How much of her he still wouldn’t have seen. So he withdraws and says, “Stand up.” 

She whimpers, but he sits back until she climbs off the couch and stands in front of him. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth again, and she chews at it relentlessly. 

“Turn around.” He twirls his finger in a slow half-circle, burning eyes fixed on her. 

A shallow divot appears between Rey’s eyebrows, but she obeys. 

As soon as her back is to him, he reaches for her. Hands on her hips, he tugs her back one step, two, until he can trail his fingers down her spine. He starts at the small of her back and dances his way up to the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. 

Tiny freckles waterfalling down her shoulders. Sun-kissed skin stretched over her lean frame. _This is her body,_ he thinks. _Here. Shared with me._ He leans forward to press a kiss right between her shoulder blades. Bending, he lets his hands drop from her hips. He starts at her ankle, carving out the space around the hard spur of bone. Achilles heel, the long slope of her calf, the wrinkled skin at the backs of her knees. Then the expanse of her thighs, half-covered by her pants. 

He stands. Ducks his head to rest his chin on her shoulder, just for a second. Winds his arms around her waist until he can tuck his fingers between her skin and the fabric she still wears. He pushes it down and sinks to the floor with it. Her pants pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her underclothes, leaving him free to run the backs of hands over the soft skin of her thighs. 

She seems to shift almost unconsciously, her legs spreading a little wider. The room is warm, but he feels her shiver as he scrapes his nails up, up, up, only stopping when he reaches the junction between her legs. 

At that point, Rey turns to face him, and he’s left on his knees, head level with her stomach. It feels like supplication. Like worship. He lurches forward, presses his forehead into the hard line of her stomach, and wraps his arms around her. He would die for her, if he had to. Part of him already has. 

“Kylo.” 

That part. He presses closer to her. 

“Take me to bed.” 

Obediently, he rises to his feet. He tightens his hold on her and takes her with him, her arms locking around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. He walks the few steps it takes to reach her bed and carefully lowers her onto it. The heat of her is intense, all tangled up around him like this, and he misses it as soon as her limbs fall away. 

He doesn’t let himself look at her because if he does, there’s no telling how long it will be before he can pull his eyes away. Instead, he nuzzles at the sharp line of her hip, visible now that she’s in nothing but her underwear. The tip of his nose travels down it and sweeps along the slight swell of her stomach until it reaches the other. Traces it with his teeth too, but they catch on the elastic of her underwear and it, he decides, is time for them to go. With a slightly irritated growl, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down. 

Above him, Rey giggles, and he could drown in that sound. 

He drops the offending article on the ground but stays at the end of the bed. Desire, white-hot, spikes through him at the sight of her spread out before him, completely bare now. The whole painting complete. He notes the imperfections of her canvas, silver-line scars, pockmarks, small bumps and ridges one wouldn’t see unless they were as close as he is now. 

There’s a dark mark on the top of her foot, right at the crest of the arch, and he lifts her leg until he can press a kiss to it. 

Rey wiggles her toes at him. “Careful,” she warns. “I’m ticklish.” 

He smirks against her foot and ever-so-lightly runs his thumbnail along the sole. “Are you?” 

Her toes curl automatically, and she squirms. “I’m going to kick you, and you’re going to deserve it,” she says, even as he does it again. Her threat dissolves into breathless laughter as he keeps up his assault. 

True to her promise, her other foot comes flailing towards him, but he catches her around the ankle. “Okay, okay,” he says, pressing his thumb against the pad of her foot. “I’ll stop.” He kisses her other arch, this one unblemished, and lets both her feet fall back to the bed. 

She lifts one right back up, though, and presses it against his chest. “It’s not very fair,” she pouts, “that I’m not wearing anything and you haven’t even got your shirt off. I want to see you too.” 

Her voice gentles at the last, and something shifts within him. He’s never thought of himself as someone to be desired. Unbidden, the memory of how she’d faltered the first time she’d seen him half-dressed comes to his mind. He hides his ghost of a smile in masses of black fabric, peeling away his tunic and letting it drop. 

Instantly, she’s sitting up, balanced on her knees so she can drape her arms around his shoulders. They don’t stay there long, though. She dusts her fingers over his constellations of freckles, smooths her palms down the hard expanse of his chest. Brings her mouth close to his ear so she can whisper, “Do you know the way you’ve looked at me tonight?” 

Then her mind brushes against his own, her emotions seeping into his, blending like watercolor. He sees himself through his eyes, but more than that, sees her reaction to it. Shivering excitement, poised on the precipice of anticipation. But there’s uncertainty, too. The sensations are curling and unfamiliar, not only for him. She’s never known this either. 

They separate, and he’s left with only that glimpse. It’s enough to have him pushing her back down onto the bed, his mouth and hands eager to touch her. “I want you, Rey,” he says. “Need you.” The words fall from his lips of their own volition; he’ll die if he doesn’t tell her, or at least that’s how it feels. 

This time when he settles between her legs, he abandons slow and reverent. He teases deliciously soft sounds from her as he nips at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, pulls her back into an arch as he runs his fingernails in the wake of his teeth. Finally, he returns to the wet heat of her core and touches her with his tongue. Flooded with the taste of her, his eyes slide closed to better appreciate it. Salty, like her sweat, and quintessentially  _ Rey. _

She moves her hands to his hair to guide him. He lets her, content to follow the pace she sets. Her pleasure pushes against their connection until it breaks open, sweeps both of them up in the slow-building wave of it. 

He swirls his tongue, coaxing her, them, higher and higher until they’re balanced at the crest. He closes off their connection just long enough to push her over the edge; he doesn’t want this to end too quickly. 

It moves through her whole body in one long shudder. Starts in her toes which dig into the bedsheets, travels up her legs which tighten around his shoulders, on up to her fingers which twist in his hair. Her mouth opens in a soundless, breathless cry. She slumps back to the mattress, limp and sated, her limbs still tangled around him. 

Carefully, he extricates himself until he can capture her lips in his again. He wonders if she can taste herself on him. The thought is more arousing than it should be, the idea that they’re mixed together on his tongue, indistinguishable from each other. 

She returns his kiss lazily, her hand stroking down his chest. She moves until she can feel the hard length of him through his pants and cups him, squeezes with tantalizing pressure. 

A stuttered breath. He could swear she’s the only thing that’s ever felt this good, and she’s barely touched him. Her hands fumble with his pants, trying to push them down his hips. He grabs her wrist, doesn’t pull her away, but doesn’t let her do more either. “I’ve… I’ve never…” 

“I know,” she says. “Do you want to?” 

To say ‘no’ with her looking back at him, lips red as sin, eyes dark with desire, is an impossibility. _Yes_ balances on his lips but doesn’t quite fall. _Yes_ would dissolve whatever barrier still remains between them. _Yes_ would be an admission he doesn’t think he’s worthy of, would imply that he can be with her in the most intimate way he knows. 

Gently, she pulls her hands from his grip. Brings them up to cradle the side of his face. Pulls it up until her gaze can meet his. “Kylo. Ben. Do you want to?” 

It slips out in an exhale. “Yes.” This time, he makes no move to stop her questing hands as they slip under his clothes to finally, truly touch him. He tries to muffle a sound, a quiet “fuck,” because it’s embarrassing, to fall apart at the first feeling of skin-on-skin. 

Rey stretches up to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispers, breathless in his ear. “I want to hear you.”  

She deconstructs him inch by inch. First with her hands, wrapped around him with barely enough pressure to linger on the edge of pleasure without pushing him over. Then with her mouth, after she’s stripped him of his clothes and left him bare. Then with her body, guiding him carefully, slowly, inside her with a quiet sigh. He rests there, suspended above her, his hair hanging over his face like a curtain. She’s hot-blooded and alive, and her legs are around his hips, and her arms are around his shoulders, and her words are in his ear. 

“Love” and “yes” and “Kylo” and “please” and he can’t hear whatever else is in between. 

As he moves, she moves with him. He doesn’t notice it at first, her subtle shift to match his rhythm, but soon he becomes attuned to her. Notices _everything._ It’s incredible, how much he hadn’t known about her. There’s a crease between her eyebrows that only appears when he brushes against her just right. There’s a sound she makes, a low keen, when he uses his teeth. There’s a way she tilts her hips, just so, that makes him forget everything but the feel of her. 

The world narrows to the two of them. The bond reopens, and their minds are as connected as their bodies. He can’t tell where his emotions end and hers begin, layer upon layer of pleasure building on top of each other. He can sense exactly what she wants, needs, and she does the same for him. Perfect synchronicity. 

They reach the apex together, Rey raking lines down his back, him crushing her to him. It takes him a long minute to recover, to gather himself enough to draw out of her and away. She doesn’t let him go far, and he doesn’t want to. He stretches himself out beside her and holds her close. He can feel her heartbeat against his, calm the longer they lie together. 

He curves himself around her, burying his face in her hair. If he could suspend himself in one moment, any moment, it would be this one. He’s wrapped up in her, completely and utterly. Desire is still a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, but it’s sated enough not to overwhelm. It allows him to appreciate how _right_ it feels to have her in his arms. 

_I’m in love with you,_ he thinks but doesn’t say. He’s never said it. He doesn’t need to now; she can hear it in the slow river of their thoughts winding between them. Someday, he will. Someday, he’ll tell her all the things he thinks about her. How when he looks at her, it’s like the edges of the world blur until she’s the only thing he sees with clarity. How he would do anything she asked, no question, just because she asked it. How he’d give her every last part of himself, if that was what she wanted. 

Someday, but not now. Now, all he wants to do is hold her. 

Rey makes a soft humming sound and presses in closer. She tilts her head back to see him better, and a slow, sleepy smile spills onto her face. 

She doesn’t say anything either, but she doesn’t need to. She’s here, with him, in living, breathing color. 

And that is enough. 


End file.
